


Snektember

by freyjawriter24



Series: Writing prompts and challenges [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: A series of ficlets written based onslateblueflowers'Snektemberprompt list, meant to showcase snake-form Crowley in all his glory.These prompts are all independent and unrelated, just compiled in one work for ease. I'm also aiming to keep each chapter/prompt fill to less than 500 words as an extra challenge. Enjoy!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Writing prompts and challenges [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805341
Comments: 51
Kudos: 46
Collections: Snektember 2020





	1. Sunbathing

The bookshop looked different from this angle. Bigger, perhaps (or at least taller), and yet just as cosy. Nothing about it had changed (except what Adam had added), but this new perspective accentuated certain details – perhaps aided by the implicit comfort involved in feeling safe enough to experience the place in this form.

Details like... how clean it was. Sure, the windows were a grimy mess, and often humans would come in and get the sense that the shop was dusty or damp or smelled weird. But Aziraphale cared deeply about his books, and he wouldn’t risk damaging them by allowing dust and damp anywhere past the window frames.

How full it was, too. From here, it was clear that every nook and cranny was filled with books. That tiny space under the bottom shelves? Books. That gap _between_ shelves where the wood didn’t quite fit neatly together? Books. Resting along the top of each shelf, balanced on the upper edges of the packed-tight collections of Jane Austen, Aphra Behn, Toni Morrison? More books.

Also, surprisingly, how warm it was. Celestial beings don’t generally tend to notice things like heat, but one particular ethereal one had an interest in how it applied to food, and one particular occult one found it difficult to ignore when the temperature dropped below a certain level. And, apparently, the aforementioned ethereal being had noticed the plight of the occult being, and adapted the bookshop accordingly. So yes, it was warm.

Particularly in the centre, on the wooden floor under the dome. The space there had long been scrubbed clean, the white circle that had occupied it for over two centuries removed without trace. That had been a good afternoon. Relieving in some ways, emotional in others, but mostly fun. Simple, real, human _fun_.

The sun-warmed floorboards were delightful against the scales of his belly, and where the beams of light fell on his coiled-up form he felt cradled by the shop, as if being gently held up to the sun and caressed by its rays.

The snake demon fell asleep there, drifting into a balmy haze. He dreamed of light and warmth and love; of summer days and winter nights; of lying under the stars he’d helped make and of gazing at the fires of human creation. He felt adored in these dreams, and he felt safe. Like he belonged there, like he was meant for it in some deep, intense, ineffable way.

When he drifted awake again as the evening faded from the windowed dome of the bookshop, the caress of the sun had been replaced by something just as bright and life-affirming and beautiful. That something continued to run its elegantly manicured fingers over the snake’s scales.

“Good evening, darling. Been sunbathing, have you?”

The snake lifted his head and scented the air, nodding drowsily. Aziraphale smell-tasted of starry nights and summer picnics, old books and strong tea, and love. Crowley nuzzled against the angel’s hand.

“I love you too, dearest.”


	2. Basket

It wasn’t the hissing that alerted Aziraphale. It was the giggling.

Babies are known for a number of things – mostly crying, being unable to control their bodily functions, and somehow convincing everyone that despite their squashed-up faces they are the _cutest little beans in the whole entire world_. Their admittedly adorable giggles are one of those things. The novelty was that this particular baby had yet to giggle.

“Ooh, what are you laughing about, then?” Aziraphale cooed as he rounded the corner, baby bottle of milk in one hand and mug of hot cocoa in the other. He stopped as soon as the child, sat up in his basket, came into view.

If the angel had thought about the combination of sounds (instead of being caught up in making sure both the milk and the cocoa were the perfect temperature), he might have imagined a scene like this: a young human, propped up in his baby basket, giggling as he watched a black, red-bellied serpent perform some trick or other which probably involved a lot of hissing and a thorough misunderstanding of the physics most snakes had to act under.

Instead, what he was faced with was more like this: the love of his entire existence being slowly crushed to discorporation in the fist of a happily oblivious young human, propped up in his baby basket, giggling. Crowley’s hissing seemed to be less along the lines of ‘look at me, puny human, and be entertained!’ and more along the lines of ‘help help help HELP!’

Aziraphale paused for a moment. Then he tilted his head to one side as he realised the reason for the twinge of recognition he’d felt at the scene.

“You look rather like Alcides, don’t you? Little baby Heracles.”

The child didn’t seem to hear him, and certainly couldn’t understand him. He did continue to giggle, though, and that rather reinforced the image.

The angel sighed, part exasperation and part fondness, and turned to put both beverages down on a side table. Then he made his way to the baby basket and tried to draw the infant’s attention away from the half-strangled demon hissing in his hand.

It seemed that infants with a lack of object permanence were less than impressed by Aziraphale’s sleight-of-hand coin-disappearing tricks. They also didn’t seem particularly interested in the works of Chaucer, Shakespeare, or Dickens, either. Even actual magic didn’t cut it when there was a snake to strangle.

Eventually, the milk bottle managed what Aziraphale could not. The infant reached for it hungrily, dropping Crowley without a second thought and guzzling down the perfectly-warmed sustenance.

The snake wriggled away immediately, still hissing and generally looking rather put out about the whole business. Aziraphale checked that the child was in no danger of falling out of his basket, then raised an eyebrow at the demon.

“This one,” Crowley gasped, having forgotten that he didn’t technically _need_ to breathe, “is _definitely_ the Antichrist.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear. You’ve survived worse.”


	3. Ducks

Most mammals notwithstanding, a large proportion of the animal kingdom lays eggs as part of the reproduction cycle. Amphibians, such as toads, lay clear, jelly-like eggs that allow the casual viewer to see the tadpole wiggle around inside as it grows. Reptiles, such as chameleons, take a slightly sturdier approach, favouring eggs with a shell (albeit a leathery one). Birds, such as ducks, go for the hard shell approach, each tiny chick smashing their way out when they’re ready to face the world.

Different species also have different ways of caring for these eggs. Many allow them to fend for themselves, burying them for incubation purposes or leaving them in a suitable pool of water. Some parents actively participate in incubation, using their body heat and the power of whatever sharp extremities they have to warm and protect their unborn offspring.

Ducks, as most people know, are in the latter group. Snakes, as fewer people do, only occasionally share that method – and when they do, the parents aren’t usually still around by the time of hatching.

Crowley, being at least partly a snake but wholly a demon, had very little idea of the details of his corporationsake’s approaches to parenthood. He did, however, appreciate ducks.

* * *

_Cheep. Cheep cheep. Cheep. Cheep cheep cheep._

“Crowley? What on _Earth_ are you –?”

“Angel! I, err, I can explain.”

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow, and the snake withdrew upon himself (and his enthusiastic, yellow-feathered clutch) rather sheepishly. The angel waited.

“They, uh, were abandoned. And I didn’t want them dying from the cold, or hatching without anyone around to look after them, so the... the _sensible_ solution seemed to be...”

“To turn into a snake and wrap yourself around them?”

Crowley glanced around at the last few pieces of discarded shell and the nest of excitable ducklings around him. He sighed, in a way snakes didn’t generally do. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale’s poker face was impenetrable. “Crowley, are you aware of the avian concept of imprinting?”

“...No?”

“It means that this little group of yours won’t want to be raised by anyone else now they’ve met you. They’ve latched onto you for life – well, at least until adulthood.”

“Uh...”

The demon didn’t seem to be understanding the full implications of this statement, so Aziraphale crouched down to his level and leaned forward, earning himself a chorus of squeaks from the birds.

“Which means,” the Angel continued seriously. “You have to teach them how to be ducks.”

“What?” scoffed the snake. “I can’t do that. I’m a snake!”

“But you’ll have to now. Otherwise they won’t be able to look after themselves. You’ll need to teach them how to eat, how to build a nest...” He paused, drawing out the suspense. “How to swim.”

“WHAT?”

Aziraphale burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny, angel? I’m a bloody _snake_ , I can’t teach ducks how to swim, I’ll...”

“You’re also a _demon_ my dear, with miracles at your disposal.”

Crowley stopped. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale dissolved into giggles again.


	4. Sneks on a Plane

The pet passport had seemed legitimate. And the serpent was indeed very well behaved. It was the person it was with, really, that was the problem.

“Oh, my dear, do you remember the last time we were in New York together? Must have been the twenties. Gosh, that seems like forever ago!”

It wasn’t so much that the passenger was talking to his snake as it was the _way_ he was talking to his snake. Like it was another person, rather than a pet. Like he expected a response, like he was having a conversation. A few of the other passengers even thought they overheard him putting on a sibilant voice to reply in. All that was weird enough, but he was also apparently over a century old, despite looking barely half that.

The other passengers might have been increasingly alarmed to discover that the ‘twenties’ Aziraphale was referring to was in fact the 1820s, not the 1920s. On the other hand, this might have eased their minds a little, knowing that this fussy waistcoated fellow traveller was either intentionally saying weird things to mess with people, or was an immortal vampire. At least they would know where they stood with that.

The large black snake lounged comfortably in the window seat, occasionally peering out through the glass, but mostly coiling up and either listening to his companion talk, or quietly falling asleep.

“And then – do you remember, Crowley? – she said it was ‘positively miraculous’, and then _he_ said ‘luck of the devil’, and I was _certain_ he knew. But then it turned out he’d just thought she’d arranged it all behind his back as a surprise! No idea we were involved at all! Oh, that was fun.”

Most of the stories the strange man loudly related to his snake made absolutely no sense whatsoever. By the second hour of the flight, most of the nearby passengers had managed to tune him out, plugging themselves into music or films or sleeping their way through the apparent century’s worth of anecdotes this person had. One passenger a few rows back opened a notepad and scribbled a few words, but gave up trying to decipher what was going on only a few minutes into a story about ‘darling Anne’ when it seemed he was talking about multiple people at once.

Around the midpoint of the flight, there was a sudden, unexpected moment of hush that caused several people look around for its source, and more than one to wake up from a deep slumber. The reason, it turned out, was that the snake had wound itself around the arm, across the shoulders, and up into the hair of the strange passenger. The silence had been caused by both traveller and snake promptly falling asleep.

It made for an interesting – slightly concerning, but oddly beautiful – image, but miraculously no one felt inclined to take an unsolicited picture.

All involved made it to their destination safe and sound, as expected.


	5. Beach

The sun was warm, the breeze cool, the sky clear, and the waters inviting. All in all, the perfect day for a picnic.

The beach was small and quiet, only a handful of families going to the extra effort of getting to this tucked-away spot. Aziraphale had set up his beach towel and windbreak on a smooth, sandy spot high up the shore, and Crowley had plied him with finger sandwiches and scotch eggs and carrot sticks, then produced some ice cream and a tiny Victoria sponge for afters.

“There’s a cream tea in there, too, if you fancy it later,” the demon had said, smiling softly. Not that long ago, the smile would have been wicked, tempting – now it just looked smitten.

“You’re so thoughtful,” Aziraphale had said, and Crowley had blushed and squirmed.

The demon had disappeared in the direction of the ocean and Aziraphale had dived into his current read – a religion-oriented fantasy that was having a resurgence in popularity due to its recent television adaptation.

The waves rushed onto shore and away again, on and off, on and off. The rhythm formed a calming backdrop to the novel, the far-off sounds of children playing a soothing comfort. _This,_ the angel thought distantly, _is the definition of contentment._

The girl in the book looked skywards and walked away, and Aziraphale sighed as he closed the final page. All worlds and lives were fleeting, all stories microcosms of humanity that way. Sometimes it was worth just sitting in that realisation for a moment, delicately holding that awareness and letting the emotion wash over you.

Then the angel opened the picnic basket and reached in to retrieve the sequel.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear! I didn’t realise you’d come back.”

The snake was curled up on the book, the red of its cover matching perfectly with the scheme of his own scales. He raised his head lazily at Aziraphale’s words, apparently having just woken up.

The angel softened at the sight of his sleepy husband. “Are you tired of terrorising children?”

Crowley began to nod, then interrupted himself by yawning, which answered the question just as well.

Aziraphale smiled fondly. “Not planning on pretending to be an eel or a sea serpent any time soon?”

The snake shook his head.

“Well then, are you happy in there, or would you like me to read to you?”

Crowley considered for a moment. Then he slowly began to unravel, slithering out of the basket and across Aziraphale’s outstretched arm, settling himself so that his head rested gently in the centre of the angel’s chest.

Aziraphale looked down into those gorgeous eyes, and his heart felt ready to burst.

“Comfy?”

The demon scented the air, flicking his tongue out so that it caught Aziraphale’s chin in a snakey approximation of a kiss. The angel laughed softly.

“Right then. Oh, this one seems to start with a new character!”

He cleared his throat, his love resting over his heart, and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone recognise what Aziraphale's reading here? No prizes for guessing, but it's a bit of fun. 😊


	6. Snekspeare

The first time Bill had seen him as a snake, it had been a complete accident. Crowley had hoped, for a solid minute, that he’d get away with it. Unfortunately, Shakespeare recognised his eyes.

“Is that you there, Crowley?”

Bill could be annoyingly sharp sometimes. The whole story came out, more or less, over the course of a single evening. And of course the moment the word ‘demon’ was spoken, without skipping a beat, the Bard said: “Oh, so you meant ‘angel’ literally?”

And so all that had come spilling out too.

* * *

“You do realise you’ve entirely copied my _Romeo and Juliet_ for your life story?”

“I’m pretty sure Brooke would have a problem with you calling it _yours_. Anyway, our version came first.”

“Only from you. You could have made the whole thing up!”

“I can turn into a snake, Bill. What more proof do you need?”

“Ah, but that’s because you’re a _demon_ , and demons are known for lying. So everything else could be invented, just with a grain of truth to keep me believing you.”

“...You are _not_ convincing me to introduce you to Aziraphale just so he can back up my story. No _way_.”

* * *

“Could I use you in my next one?”

“Huh?”

“Could I put you in my next play, as a snake? I’m thinking of telling the story of Antony and Cleopatra. You could be the asp.”

“No.”

* * *

“Could you use one of your demonic miracles to make a few extra people come to my new one? I could do with the boost.”

“Nope, never doing that again.”

“ _Again_?”

* * *

Increasingly, it became unavoidable that Bill and Aziraphale would meet. Crowley sighed and accepted it, and barely restrained from _praying_ that Shakespeare wouldn’t mess it up. Which is how it came to be that Bill witnessed more and more of the demon’s helpless indulgences.

For all his pretty words, the Bard often seemed to prefer bluntness to subtlety. One of those occasions was the evening immediately after Crowley intentionally lost a coin toss to Aziraphale so the angel could go to a play at the Hope. Bill had bought the drinks, directed the demon to a corner table, then fixed him with a sceptical look.

“Love hath made thee a tame snake.”

“Wha– Ngh– You can’t quote your own bloody plays at me!” Crowley spluttered indignantly.

“It’s true, though.”

The demon glared at him, then dropped his face into his hands and swore under his breath. “I know, and I don’t even care, really. I’m not – I _can’t_ be... be _nice_ or _kind_ or _friendly_ because of... you know. But anything he asks I just...”

Bill nodded, part sympathetic, part scoffing.

“You can shut up,” Crowley scowled.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking, I can tell. With my... demon... powers.” The demon groaned undemonically. “Nothing to be done, anyway. It’s just... not an option. Not like your Romeo and Juliet, sneaking around and whatnot.”

“So they _are_ mine now, are they?”

“Oh, Shut up, Bill.”


	7. Naps

Sleeping, Crowley had learned sometime in the early fifteenth century, was a massively enjoyable pastime. Mainly because it meant you didn’t have to worry about anything for a while, just lay back and not think, curl up and drift off. It was relaxing, soothing, escapist. It was probably as close as he was ever going to get to stepping foot in Heaven again. [1]

As a result of it being so massively enjoyable, Crowley had learnt to do it almost anywhere. In bed, sure. On the ceiling? No problem. In chairs, on the floor, even whilst literally hiding in a cupboard in the bookshop, once. All of that was easy. But that was in a human body. As a snake, the possibilities were endless.

A fun thing about being a demon (there had to be at least one fun thing, in amongst it all) was that Crowley could be any size of snake he wanted. Which rather made curling up for naps even easier. When faced with a bookcase, for example, there was no end to the options for sleeping quarters. Draped over the top, like a jungle snake hanging out in the canopy? Check. Splayed out along a lower ledge, belly to the sky, as if playing dead? On one rather drunken occasion, yes. Curled up smaller than a mouse, fitting snugly into the tiniest gap left on a densely-packed shelf? Of course.

The best place for napping, however, after extensive research, was found in a cosy hollow in the back of the bookshop. It consisted of an armchair, a (regrettably) tartan blanket, a small table usually occupied by a stack of books and a mug of cocoa, and an angel. This was the perfect landscape for snake-form napping – warmth for maintaining body heat, several different textures of softness to choose from, and (most decadent of all), love. Wonderfully deep, powerful flashes of love.

Crowley nuzzled his face softly against Aziraphale’s cheek, basking in the glow of him. The angel smiled fondly, and reached a gentle hand up to lazily stroke Crowley’s shining scales. Yes, this was the ideal place for napping. This was perfect. This was home.

* * *

1 Crowley revised this metaphor sometime in the early twenty-first century. It was, in fact, nothing like stepping foot in Heaven again, because _that_ involved facing up to your partner’s Good-in-the-most-technical-possible-terms, actually-genuinely-terrible-people bosses and barely restraining yourself from setting them all on Hellfire because they’re so goddamn awful (despite somehow not having been damned by God at all). He also found he couldn’t rephrase it to ‘stepping foot in Paradise’, because he was fairly sure he was now living that every single day he spent with Aziraphale. But sleeping was still pretty good. [return to text]


	8. Snuddling (Snake Cuddling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being a little angsty and mostly the run-up to snake cuddling rather than the actual cuddles, but I promise they spent a long time snuddling on the sofa after this.

He’d managed to keep it together for so long after it all. The bus ride back to London, when just a held hand was enough. The night together at his flat, when they’d talked everything over and figured out what Agnes was on about. Even the next morning – seeing the bookshop again, as real and there as it ever had been – he’d kept it together.

Heaven was anger-inducing enough that it wasn’t that difficult. And then the euphoria of the Ritz had kept him so far from it all that it was like it never mattered. But afterwards... Afterwards was a different story.

They walked home. They didn’t have the Bentley with them, and each had had a little too much champagne anyway, but they hadn’t wanted a taxi. They wanted to drift through the streets of their city, feel it hum around them with humanity. They talked and laughed and remembered. And everything felt starlit and golden.

Crowley opened the door. He opened it held it wide for Aziraphale, bowing in feigned chivalry and smiling in genuine affection. The angel walked through, Crowley followed and locked up, and then turned and –

And there he was, in the middle of it all. The books weren’t burned, the air wasn’t filled with smoke, and Aziraphale was _alive_.

Everything hit him at once. The stomach-dropping horror, the creeping, consuming fear. The terrible, deep-rooted _loss_ that he’d only felt once before and he’d dared to hope he’d never feel again. All the emotion of the past few days came crashing in on him at the sight of Aziraphale, wonder-struck and smiling in the centre of his very own, perfectly-recreated bookshop, looking back at him in open, reverent love.

“A-Azira...”

The wonder fell away from the angel’s face, replaced by concern. The love stayed.

His voice, when it came, was impossibly gentle and already fully understanding. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley tried to speak, failed, and instead shook his head.

Aziraphale opened his arms in welcome, and Crowley dived at him.

“There you go, darling, I’ve got you. We’re safe now, both of us. I’ve got you. Here we are. Safe and sound.”

The substance of the words didn’t matter as much as the reminder that Aziraphale was _here_ and _alive_ and _safe_. That they were here together, wrapped around one another, and didn’t ever have to let go. Aziraphale soothed him with soft words and the calming rhythm of simple circles rubbed on his skin by angelic fingers. Crowley clung on for dear life, and sobbed unashamedly into Aziraphale’s chest.

The angel – genuine angel, perhaps the only true one out there – didn’t rush him. He simply held him and let him cry it out, waited for as long as it took.

He also didn’t mention what Crowley had accidentally done. The demon himself didn’t notice until his sobbing subsided, and Aziraphale reached to take his serpentine face in his hands, and kissed him delicately on his scales.


End file.
